


Right Hand Man

by KareliaSweet



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Blowjobs, Coming Untouched, Kissing, M/M, Masturbation, PWP, Teasing, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-29
Updated: 2016-04-21
Packaged: 2018-05-29 20:53:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,274
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6393385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KareliaSweet/pseuds/KareliaSweet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He has a good half hour before Hannibal comes home, and he wants to luxuriate in every tiny sensation. He wants to sink into this imagined universe where the hairs on the back of his neck are standing on end because of the mouth on his neck, the teeth biting at his pulse. But he’s given so much of himself over already. He can’t ask for that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I was prompted to write Hannibal walking in on Will masturbating. Then I was prompted to write the reverse.  
> I don't know what else you expected to happen.

He’s so close. So unbearably close. His muscles are drawn in taut lines, every part of him stretched to the point of endurance and past it. The column of his throat tipped back, his chest arched, his toes curled.

He feels like a spring ready to snap. The air is thick and heady with the smell of him, the slick sounds echoing obscenely. He’s biting his tongue to choke back the wet groans that rumble threatening beneath.

It feels so incredibly good.

Underneath his eyelids, the quick hand stroking him is not his own, the fingers striping through the sweat on his stomach and pinching his nipples are rougher, thicker. Calloused, strong, they smell like dry herbs and rich wine.

He is leaking so much his hand slips and for a half-second he’s brought back to earth, to the small room with the brittle sheets and the musky scent that is only his and no-one else’s. He bites out a curse at the distraction and grips himself anew.

He has a good half hour before Hannibal comes home, and he wants to luxuriate in every tiny sensation. He wants to sink into this imagined universe where the hairs on the back of his neck are standing on end because of the mouth on his neck, the teeth biting at his pulse. But he’s given so much of himself over already. He can’t ask for that.

He can wait for these moments when he is alone and picture every detail to the last atom. He can do that, as he does now, cock throbbing, face flushed, lip caught between his teeth. He never speaks when he does this, save the odd grunt that stutters out, but for once he wants to. He wants to give voice to this need that has coiled in his gut and dug hooks in his ribs.

God, he’s close. One word, and he could come with the taste of it on his tongue.

Eyes screwed tight, rhythm growing sloppy, he opens his mouth to say the name.

“H-”

His door opens.

The Name stands there, bare-chested, eyes darker than the pitch he has steeped himself in.

“Will,” Hannibal says. He does not move.

Will just looks, and looks, and looks. His hand has stopped moving but his cock is still hard and red in his fist. A bead of fluid blooms out and trickles down his knuckles.

Hannibal’s nostrils flare. “Don’t stop,” he says.

Will swallows and his throat clicks dry. Slowly, he begins to stroke himself again, hips thrusting lazy into his hand. His eyes drift close.

“No,” Hannibal growls, “you look at me.”

Will’s gaze immediately tears and seizes onto Hannibal’s, he couldn’t look away if he wanted to and he really doesn’t want to. His lips part, pink and wet, and a moan escapes lush from his throat. He sounds alive. Hannibal stares at him with insistent affection, forcing Will to take and absorb every ounce of it. He takes a step towards him and falls to his knees.

Will’s arousal, already fevered, kicks up the last electric notch and he is caught, spun into a web that he has no hope to escape from. He jerks harder and faster, the centre of his universe shrunk down to this room, this bed, and this man. Hannibal is before him, worshipful and broken, wrapping him in something unnameable that binds his limbs and heart. Will reaches out a hand. He is so close.

“Hannibal,” he breathes, pulse racing and hips bucking.

Their fingers touch, and Will comes, violent and unforgiving. Ribbons of come paint his neck and chest, a work of art for Hannibal to devour, and devour he does, lunging forward and licking every trace of Will’s completion into his mouth. Will just lies beneath him, panting and half-blind.

When he is cleaned and sated, Hannibal stands above him. His fingers brush Will’s brow, through the cooling sweat.

“Beautiful,” he says, then he leaves and shuts the door behind him.

Will stares at the ceiling and counts the seconds until his world rights itself. It never does.

He opens the door and follows.


	2. Chapter 2

Will opens the door to Hannibal’s room. Hannibal lays supine on his bed, framed by sumptuous pillows and Egyptian cotton. He holds himself erect in hand, but remains unmoving.

He has been waiting.

Their eyes meet, and a breath skitters from Hannibal’s chest, uncertain. Will still has a mottled flush about his chest and neck. He can feel the spots on his belly where Hannibal’s spit is still cooling dry. He touches one of them, with his index finger, just there, then lets his hand drop to his side.

Hannibal’s fist clenches around his cock and he sucks his lip between his teeth. In that movement Will sees the layers peeled back. He sees the desperate and incandescent need that burns through Hannibal, sees the restrain he is forcing upon himself, how tightly wound each muscle is, pulling at the last filament of his discipline.

Will lifts his chin, squares his shoulders, takes one step and then another. He walks towards Hannibal like a God. Hannibal watches him with fevered eyes, his breath tremulous. Will looks down on him, considering, then he lays beside him on the bed.

He reclines on his side, head propped up on his hand and curls spilling over his fingers. Hannibal immediately reaches out and Will’s eyes turn to cold steel.

“No touching,” he says, “you watched, now I watch.”

Will tips his head in a nod as if to say ‘begin’. Hannibal does.

His strokes are languid and steady, though his breath comes out in heaving shudders. Sweat pools at his temples, dripping down. Will thinks of licking it off, but doesn’t. Instead he licks his top lip into his mouth, holding it and then releasing. The display pries free a groan from Hannibal, and he fixes his eyes on Will’s tongue, now resting just at the edge of his parted lips. Will smiles.

“Do you like this?” he asks. Hannibal nods frantically, his fist working a little faster. Wet smacking noises filter through the air and Will’s groin feels a little pull of its own. He looks down at Hannibal’s cock, shining and red at the tip. It’s strangely elegant, and he is seized with the urge to touch it. His fingers twitch at his hip.

Hannibal sees the flutter of movement and bends a little toward Will, mouth open and ready to beg. Will shakes his head.

“Don’t speak.”

He scoots himself a little closer, fascinated and aroused. Hannibal’s eyes lock with his and he pours his need into their gaze, every last secret spilled between them. His love unfurls itself as a wild and feral thing, reaching and twining tendrils through Will’s ribs and pulling him closer still.

Something changes and shifts, and in that moment there is no longer any distinction between them. Will feels Hannibal’s hand as keenly as if it were on his own cock, feels himself coming unglued just as quickly though he remains untouched. Their hearts stutter at the same increasing rhythm, breath panting from their heaving chests in matching drives.

“Hannibal,” Will gasps, “what-”

He is shaking, they both are, and Hannibal just looks at him, eyes glassy and rimmed with tears. He mouths Will’s name soundlessly, or something like it, a prayer and a question both.

Hannibal jerks his hand faster, slick and wet, groaning low in his throat. Will feels pierced, an arrow struck through him and holding him there, forced to endure the beauty of this and feel it too.

“I’m - I’m close,” he says incredulously, and they both look down to see his cock erect and leaking, hips moving in small unsteady motions. Hannibal nods in echoed agreement, squeezing himself just a bit harder, and then Will unspirals. He bends down, he can’t not, and kisses Hannibal just at the corner of his mouth, hot and open, his breath painting Hannibal’s cheek.

Hannibal’s reaction is instantaneous and severe. He bows from the bed, back arching sharply, and comes in great spurts over his fist. He keens, at first high and frightened, and then his chest rumbles low as he growls out Will’s name.

Will comes beside him, shocked, his mouth still fixed on that small patch of Hannibal’s skin. He bucks and trembles and turns to water, sinking into the bed completely boneless and more than a little afraid.

Hannibal just lays on his back, staring up at the ceiling, breath still unsteady. Will can see his pulse flutter at the curve of his throat. He licks it into his mouth. Hannibal spasms, a last dribble of come trailing down his cock.

Will falls to his back with a soft thump amongst the pillows, his elbow grazing Hannibal’s. “What - what was that?” he asks.

“A blur,” Hannibal replies, “a becoming,” then more honestly, “I don’t know.”

He turns to face Will, eyes soft, tugs at his hip imploring him to do the same. Will follows, hands clasped against his chest, hair curling even madder with sweat and something more besides.

Hannibal reaches out with one finger, traces Will’s knuckles. Will can feel each cell of their skin touching, crackling with electricity.

Hannibal inhales deeply and Will chuckles. He doesn’t need an acute sense of smell to know that everything in this room reeks of sex. He breathes in the musk himself, unsurprised to find that he likes it.

“Let’s not make a habit of this,” Will says, waving a hand at the space between their bodies.

Hannibal’s eyes automatically shutter into a mask. “Oh,” he replies uncertainly.

Will reaches between them, dipping his fingers into the mess that pools and drips down their chests and bellies. He brings three fingers to his mouth, sucks them in, then offers them to Hannibal.

“Because next time,” Will says, “I want to touch you.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Did you often touch yourself when I wasn’t here?”

Will wakes sleepy-hard, a lazy grin on his face. He rolls his head to the side to see Hannibal watching him and his cock stirs more forcefully.

“Mmm,” he stretches his body in a lithe curve, shoulders pressed to the mattress and ass lifting high. “Hi.”

  
“Hello, Will.”

  
Hannibal’s voice is rough and honeyed, pouring into his ears and rippling sweet through his bones. His eyes rove down Will’s body, coming to rest on the steadily rising erection that strains toward him.

  
“Did you often touch yourself when I wasn’t here?”

  
Will blushes a little and nods. Hannibal looks far too pleased.

  
“And did you always think of me when you did… this?” Hannibal’s fingers trail up the underside of his cock and Will groans quietly.

  
“Yes. Every time.”

  
“Tell me what you thought of.”

  
Hannibal’s mouth is as equally persuasive as his hand, and Will’s fantasies bubble up and out of his throat, springing to hopeful life.

  
“I thought of you k—” his throat clicks in a thick swallow around the consonant, “kissing me. Of you stroking my skin.”

  
“Where would I kiss you, Will?”

  
Will arches his neck, tilting to display the column of his throat. Teeth gritted, a small trail of spittle leaks from the corner of his mouth. Hannibal ducks to lap it up, tongue darting out there and gone again. He watches the muscles in Will’s neck quiver.

  
“Your neck,” Hannibal observes in a scholarly tone, “I would kiss your neck?”

  
“Mm,” Will replies, then ‘ _ah_ ’ as Hannibal’s thumb swipes over the head of his cock, rubbing with delicious wet friction. His hips rise up and Hannibal pins them back down with his free hand. He bends low to sniff behind Will’s jaw.

  
“Tell me more,” Hannibal purrs.  
Will’s fingers flutter involuntarily at his side, his left hand hovering and twitching as he tries to point towards his chest.

  
“My – _nngh_ – my nipples. You would pinch them until they hurt, run your fingers down my chest.”

  
“I see,” Hannibal’s hand picks up speed, “would this be while my mouth is at your throat?”

  
“ _ohfuck_ God, yes.”

  
His head moves from side to side, sweaty curls matting against his forehead. Hannibal releases his hipbone to brush Will’s hair from his face. He is made entirely of tenderness, even with the ruthless workings of his hand.

  
“Darling,” he murmurs, and the word sings electric up Will’s spine, “would I bite you?”

  
Will is leaking messy down Hannibal’s hand now, and the imagined impact of teeth over his pulse near does him in.

  
“You would,” Will replies, “but not hard –”

  
“Not at first.”

  
Hannibal’s eyes flash and the danger goes unspoken, perfectly fluent between them. Will smiles, dizzy.

  
“Not at first,” he confirms, and he snaps his jaws playfully. At least, he aims for playful, but the flame that bursts behind Hannibal’s eyes shows how feral he must look. A wild creature, writhing and gnashing and all the while melting as Hannibal dissolves him into pieces.

  
Hannibal’s thumb strokes Will’s temple, drawing little circles in the dampness there.

  
“What else, Will?”

  
Will shakes his head, his entire body is shaking.

  
“Hannibal, I – I can’t, I’m going to –”

  
Hannibal slings a leg over Will’s hip, lets him feel his own echoed arousal.

  
“You’re close.” It’s on observation, not a question. “So am I.” He gives a little thrust and Will feels the thick insistence pressed against him.

  
Will’s twitching hand reaches out in request. Hannibal nods, the beginnings of a moan curling from his lips.

  
“Yes,” Hannibal breathes, “touch. Touch _me_.”

  
Will’s hand wraps around Hannibal’s hardness, hot and heavy. The tips of his fingers brush the velvet-soft foreskin, pulled back tight already to reveal the pink and slick head.

  
“You’re beautiful,” Will whispers with something halfway to awe. He laughs at himself, then the laugh splinters out into a reedy keening sound as Hannibal twists just right.

  
“Christ,” he grits out, hips bucking whip-sharp. His hand moves spasmodically and Hannibal guides it with his own thrusts, taking his pleasure as he gives Will his without mercy.

  
Hannibal’s mouth hovers at his ear, not quite touching, but close enough to feel the heat of his breath.

  
“I want to use my mouth on you,” he says, “I want to suck you down until my tongue is raw. I want to draw deep from you and swallow every part.”

  
Will’s eyes fall closed and he sees it all, vivid and glorious. “Fuck, keep talking.”

  
Hannibal’s mouth is closer still, lips brushing skin. “You could ravage me,” he offers, “and I would let you. I’d let you fuck my mouth.” His teeth close briefly over the shell of Will’s ear and then release. “Then I’d fuck yours. Until you couldn’t speak.”

  
Too much. Everything filled to the brim and spilling over, sensation and need and desire and despairing want and Will is coming for what feels like an eternity. Thick ropes that ribbon across his stomach, his groin, Hannibal’s fingers. His own hand, squeezing Hannibal’s cock, is drenched in wet warmth as Hannibal follows him over the edge.

  
His mouth is open, wide, and he is both screaming and silent. He’s not sure. Either way, only Hannibal can hear.

Only Hannibal can know.

  
Only Hannibal will ever know.

  
He pants, stunned, as Hannibal hovers over him, licking his hand like a cat.

  
“Delicious,” he purrs, eyes half-lidded, a dreamy smile on his face.

  
Will reaches for him hazily, beckoning. Hannibal lays beside him, chin propped on his free hand, fingers working through the last of the mess on Will’s bare skin. Will looks at him with eyes dangerously full of feeling, and when their gazes catch Hannibal drinks it down with greed. A flighty notion crosses Will’s brain and he giggles to himself, just a little.

  
“What?” Hannibal asks, the smile writ large in his eyes.

  
“I just realized, with all… _this_ ,” Will gestures to the sweat and come and closeness between them, “we haven’t even kissed yet.”

  
Hannibal tilts his head, considering.

“No, we haven’t. Does that bother you?”

  
“No.” Will grabs the back of Hannibal’s neck, brings their foreheads close. “but when I do kiss you, you’re going to come from that alone.”

  
Hannibal’s eyes flutter closed and he exhales tremulously.

  
“Yes,” he vows, “I would like that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is entirely mokuyoubi's fault.


	4. Chapter 4

Hannibal wakes to the sensation of a mouth so hot he thinks he might be on fire.

He is, and he’s not. It’s just Will, sucking him with such talent that one would never suspect this is only the second time in his life with a cock in his mouth. Between the sounds he’s making and the way he’s twisting his hand, Hannibal’s pretty sure he’ll be coming in ten seconds, even having only been awake for twelve.

“Will,” he slurs, fingers reaching to comb through Will’s silky morning-disheveled curls. Will smiles up at him, lips red and swollen around his mouthful, and Hannibal feels that full-body tightening of pleasure singing electric through him. He pets at Will without coordination, fingers blind and shaking under the heat of near-release. It’s so good, so delicious, this deliberate wet slurping that seems so haphazard but has in truth a ruthless efficiency designed to draw Hannibal close to weeping. Will’s tongue traces that singular pattern and ends with a flick just at the underside and Hannibal’s hips soar from the sheets.

“Oh!,” he cries, “I’m–”

And then Will is gone, replaced with nothing but the chill of the air. He is at the door before Hannibal can speak, his thumb pushed into the corner of his mouth as he sucks away a drop of something clear that doesn’t belong to him.

“I’ll be back,” he promises, and grins like the devil himself.

-x-

Hannibal lays there, glistening with sweat, the spit on his cock growing cold. His breath tempers, his hardness receding minute by torturous minute. From without the bedroom he can hear the sounds of Will humming as he makes his morning coffee. Hannibal wonders what sort of mercurial mood he’s being subjected to, if he should be prepared for the further infliction of cruelty or kindness. Or both.

It’s only when he’s completely soft against his thigh that the door swings back open, and Will enters as if on cue.

“Sorry I took so long,” he lies, and takes a sip from his mug. Hannibal burns with the need to kiss the chicory from his lips. All these many weeks and so many parts he has tasted, but still not that one. The ripe bow of Will’s mouth mocks him every waking second, and the sleeping ones too.

Will sets his mug on the bedside and sidles his way back into bed, draping himself bodily over Hannibal’s hip and thigh.

“Mmm,” he says, nuzzling Hannibal’s jaw, “where were we?”

He reaches a hand between them and Hannibal stirs effortlessly.

“Don’t tease,” Hannibal all-but-pleads, and Will smiles over his throat.

“Never darling,” he says, kissing the patch of skin he had bruised the night before, and begins to stroke him in an easy, languid glide.

Hannibal picks up the rhythm without any guidance, his hips moving in soft little thrusts into Will’s sure grip. Will presses his mouth to Hannibal’s collarbone, bringing out his teeth, and Hannibal gasps.

“Dare I ask for your mouth again?” he whispers. Will looks up with wide, innocent eyes.

“Baby, I just gave you my mouth,” he says, then chuckles low in his throat, “so greedy…”

Hannibal’s hips work wilder as Will begins a trail of open-mouthed kisses across his sternum and down his belly. He realizes with a slight residue of panic that he’s so close again he may come before Will even puts his lips around him. He decides he doesn’t care when Will swipes his thumb and applies just that extra touch of pressure, the way he knows Hannibal likes.

“You love my mouth, don’t you?” Will murmurs into his skin.

“Yes,” Hannibal nods, first slow then frantic. Will’s hand picks up speed and Hannibal feels himself leak from it.

“God,” Will chuckles, “you’re so wet.” Then, so innocently, “I want to taste it.”

That does it. Hannibal bucks sharply, teeth gritted, teetering on the knife’s edge of release.

And Will’s hand is gone, mouth too, all of him gone, far away, so far that Hannibal can’t even see him. He blinks once, focusing his vision, and Will’s outline stands in the doorway.

“I forgot to turn the stove off,” he says with zero apology in his voice, and disappears.

-x-

Hannibal knows this time that the moment his erection subsides the door will open again. His anticipation is equal parts dread and need, and those warring halves keep him harder for longer than he’d like. When he finally - and painfully - drifts back to himself, Will saunters back into the bedroom as though he had barely left.

“I made breakfast,” he chirps, “want some pancakes?”

Hannibal growls.

“Aw c'mon, baby, I made them from scratch.”

Will slips a careless hand into the waistband of his barely tied drawstring shorts, and Hannibal’s dick twitches pitifully.

“Oh,” Will says in mock surprise, “were you not done?”

“Take those off,” Hannibal instructs gruffly, “now.”

Will’s eyes flash just briefly, and for an instant Hannibal sees the deep red ocean of his need reflected back at him. He slides the shorts down to his ankles, never breaking their gaze, then steps out of them, standing silently before him. Will cocks one insouciant eyebrow and Hannibal snarls.

“Come. Here.”

Will moves toward Hannibal like liquid, lifting his knee and resting it gently on the foot of the bed.

“Tell me what you want.” There is steel behind the softness in Will’s voice, and it lodges yet another hook into Hannibal’s heart.

Will’s knee slips a little further forward until he is half-kneeling on the covers. Hannibal’s cock thickens. Will’s eyes drift lower and he licks those cruelly untasted lips.

“I want your mouth,” Hannibal murmurs.

“Is that what you want?” Will asks. “Tell me.”

He lowers himself inch by inch, draping his body over Hannibal’s and crawling up him, letting every part of skin that he can graze against Hannibal’s aching dick. 

Hannibal whimpers. “Yes,” he begs, “your mouth, please.”

Will nips at a hipbone, dips his tongue into the shadow of it.

“Where do you want it?”

Looking down at his red and angry cock, Hannibal is baffled by the question.

“On my–” He stops short and Will looks up, chin resting on his belly.

“Hannibal? Where do you want my mouth?”

The answer comes with such clarity it’s close to blinding. Of course.

“On my own,” Hannibal says simply.

Will doesn’t move.

“On my own,” he repeats, “Please, Will. Please kiss me.”

Propped up on his elbows, Will continues his crawl up Hannibal’s body until he hovers over him, nose to nose. The relief of his skin is a warm and intoxicating balm, and he shivers as their cocks brush together. Will thrusts once, playfully, laughing affectionately as Hannibal gasps. Then he bends low, eyes falling shut, and all Hannibal can see is that awful, beautiful mouth until his eyes fall shut, too.

And then Will is off him again, the blanket of his body stripped away, the nearness of his lips stretched to unreachable miles.

“No,” Hannibal cries feverishly, his shoulders twisting hard into the pillows, “no, no, no, not–”

But then, oh, Will’s hands are on his face and his mouth touches his in the sweetest, purest kiss, barely there but profoundly felt.

The softness of Will’s lips, the supple press and gentle curve of them, the taste – it is too much for Hannibal entirely and his mouth falls open as he comes with a pained sort of grace.

As he spurts hot and thick between them, Will keeps kissing him, deeper now, opening to him and licking the soft edges of his mouth, each pulse of Hannibal’s release matched by a swipe of Will’s tongue. He reaches out and cups Will’s cheeks, returning the kiss with all the desperation that had been writhing within him, keening at the sore joy of it all.

Will smiles over his open mouth, kissing and kissing and kissing until Hannibal’s entire world is just a kiss and always has been. Will strokes the grooves of his cheekbones with tenderness, slowly letting the rest of his body rest beside Hannibal’s and curling half atop him, half tucked into his side. Hannibal’s arms sweep around him and hold him close. He does not stop kissing.

Finally, and only for the sake of breath, Will draws them apart, the barest of inches only. Hannibal’s mouth seeks for his instantly, bereft already.

“Wow,” Will breathes, his eyes still half-shuttered. “I told you I would make you come from a kiss, but I didn’t think–”

“Didn’t think I would come that hard?” Hannibal nudges his nose into the corner of Will’s smiles.

“Didn’t think we both would,” Will admits, and takes up Hannibal’s hand, guiding it between his legs. Hannibal makes a soft, awed sound as he traces through the sticky mess he finds. He keeps his eyes on Will’s as he brings his fingers to his mouth.

“May I?”

Will nods mutely, transfixed as Hannibal sucks each finger clean with a pleased hum, then dips them back to the source for more. This time a pearlescent string webs obscenely between index and thumb, and Hannibal catches it on his tongue before lapping off the rest away.

“Jesus,” Will says softly, eyes dark and wide.

Hannibal smiles, almost drunk in his delight. “Kiss me again?”

Will draws his lower lip between his teeth and hisses quietly.

“Yeah,” he nods, closing up the space between them, “again and forever.”

**Author's Note:**

> All the kudos in the world to [damnslippyplanet](http://damnslippyplanet.tumblr.com/) for coming up with this brilliant title/Hamilton reference.
> 
> Come play with me on [on the tumblr](http://lovecrimevariations.tumblr.com/)!


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